


O, L’manberg !

by XxhumanheartxX



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Mental Illness, Other, Suicidal Ideology, Swearing, basically a written version of the last minutes of l’manbergs reign, brief desc of phil and wil’s relationship w/ fatherly neglect, lmfaooo, tommy and wilbur are brothers your honor :/, wilbur fucking dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxhumanheartxX/pseuds/XxhumanheartxX
Summary: Wilbur Soot has fascist cravings that cannot be satiated in this life. May he pass to the next, peacefully.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	O, L’manberg !

_** “L’MANBERG, MY GREAT UNFINISHED SYMPHONY ** _

_** —  FOREVER UNFINISHED.”  ** _

Wilbur held his breath. This was it. This was the final act of his great opera. His time was almost up, but he couldn’t say the same for the others. The others would fight another hour, another day and would hopefully build another life. Whatever happened next wasn’t up to him, it was all part of the plan, all intertwined within the great scheme of life. It made sense, too. His fate, that is. After all, if he stood for nothing what would he fall for? This was right. Wilbur felt it, felt sickly sweet and sticky and latched onto his veins. And that was acceptable for the time, ‘cause no matter what, he would be satisfied in the end. 

That’s all it was, really. 

The End. 

It was simple, everything had an end. That was the way Wilbur’s world operated. 

Life, although seen as something beyond valuable, is limited. 

And it’s easier than anything to steal. 

**Outrun**. 

_Outrun_. 

**Outlast**. 

_Outlast_. 

He chanted earlier with Tommy, his little brother. Tommy, his favorite soldier. Tommy, his righthand man and favorite shooting star. 

He had promised the blue-eyed, bracket mouthed teen that they would win. And in that moment, Wilbur didn’t find himself viewing it as a lie. Not just yet. 

Time, which once felt gummy and stifling, was now counting down rapidly.  Wilbur’s heart rate sped up and he knew he had to move. 

In the man’s peripheral vision, he saw the door to the bunker burst open. He knew who it was. 

He would finish the job if this didn’t kill Wilbur.  He wouldn’t stop him. 

This really was Wilbur’s perfect timeline. 

“Y’know, father. There was an old saying that I heard- said by a traitor, once part of L’manberg. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them...Eret was their name. Yeah. They said it right. D’you know what they said?  ** It was never meant to be.**” 

Before his father could get a word in, the button had been pressed. He smiled in satisfaction. 

Right arm angled.

45 degrees. 

Palm facing down. 

Fingers pointed towards the right eye. 

Wilbur saluted his lover in death. 

_ O, L’manberg! My L’manberg !  _

Wilbur’s time was still running. His hour glass hadn’t been depleted. He had to speed it up now. He couldn’t stay here and he couldn’t go back outside. He turned to his father, one last time. 

“Kill me. Stab me, Father. Do what is right. Murder me. Please. Now, Phil. Now.” 

The L’manberg experiment was bound to cease. 

The blade met his stomach, empty and sucked in from malnourishment. He couldn’t bring himself to eat any goods that didn’t come from Niki, it didn’t make sense. It didn’t matter either way, his vitals were pierced and he could feel his system frantically working to keep him awake. 

Every cell in his body exploded into a river of numb burning sensations cascading down his spine. In that very moment, Wilbur swore he witnessed the Lord himself frowning down at him.  And _God, he was so fucking cold_. 

There he sat, slumped over on the floor of the half busted bunker, with the sword sticking out the other side of his abdomen. 

Wilbur’s mind buzzed and fluttered. His head felt like it was pulsating as if it were his heart. It was almost over, he could hear voices outside of his skull, but they didn’t matter then. He couldn’t stop his stupid, stupid fucking brain from clouding up. He hadn’t died yet and his Lord wouldn’t let it go unnoticed. He hoped Techno was happy and that Tommy didn’t hate his guts. He knew his last moments would sting and flood with negativity until his soul was no longer on the same plane of existence as all the good in the world. He didn’t deserve to exist. No more. No more. 

If Wilbur’s life was so important, so goddamn lovable and valuable, just like everyone else’s, 

just like he had believed

for so,

so long

why was it just so easy to close his eyes? 

**Author's Note:**

> An excerpt of ‘O Captain! My Captain!’ by Walt Whitman. 
> 
> “My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,  
> My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,  
> The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,  
> From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;”


End file.
